The Old Life
by Jack Wong
Summary: Commissioner Gordon attends Gilda Dent's funeral; also attending is her ex-husband, Harvey 'Two-Face' Dent.  Gordon, who has been avoiding Dent, confronts his emotions about his former friend's turn to crime.


"Gordon." That's what he said to me, as they led him by.

"Dent," I replied. I didn't know what else to say.

It's surprising to see him here. It really is. Gilda never remarried, it's true, and she would want him here. Some version of him.

The version she knew.

The good half.

But all of Harvey 'Two-Face' Dent is present. The other, ugly half, the half that steals and kills and worse, the half everyone will talk about long after the funeral is over, is here as well.

I keep looking at him – I can't stop. I haven't seen him since his turn to crime; I went out of my way to not see him, in fact. I always had someone else interrogate, handle the cases. I couldn't stand to see my old friend, the old Harvey, the one who sacrificed everything, everything for justice, sit there at the other end of the table.

I couldn't. And now he's here.

It changes the tone of the service when there are two armed guards and a man in chains sitting there on the side. I am not uncomfortable with that, but many here are, and it is obvious. But he is polite; he doesn't say anything, doesn't flip out and try to escape. No, he is respectful. Whatever happened, Gilda was his wife.

"Gordon." He'd said it like nothing had changed, like nothing had ever happened. Like we were friends. And I suppose that is where our relationship left off. I suppose that, in a twisted mind, it was still the way things were.

It's a nice funeral. Gilda would have liked it. She threw a sort of 'death party' when she got the diagnosis, and she had been dying for a while, so the feelings weren't overwhelming. Still, it was sad.

And I watched Harvey Two-Face cry.

I stared. I couldn't help it. He bawled out of control, and I got the feeling it wasn't all about Gilda. I got the feeling the tears came from what Gilda stood for; the old life, the clean life. It seemed like this was painful for him, like he had tried to forget; the old life was just that for him. The old life. The past.

Harvey has killed a lot of people. A lot. He has caused so much damaged and stolen, racketeered so much that he is in all senses of the word a menace to society. But here, crying at his wife's funeral, he reminds me of someone else.

They walk him away from the grave roughly, like he is a piece of trash. I have to know. I have to know, after what I've seen, if there is any of the old Harvey, my Harvey, left.

"Jim," he says when I reach him and the guards. He says it with a smile.

"Look," I say, "I've been avoiding you."

"I know," he says, and knows what I'm getting at. "You made the right choice." He laughs, a little evil. "The old Harvey's gone."

"The way you cried, back there. There's some of you left."

He stares. "Of course there is. But can't you see, Jim? Can't you see?"

I stare back. I see. But it's not enough.

"What do you want," he says, gruff and angry.

"I don't know," I say. "I don't know."

He smiles, a mad, crazy smile. He opens his mouth to say something, then his face changes. For a second, half a second, he is the old Harvey. He looks at me, deep in the eyes. "…I'm sorry Jim," he says, then looks away, ashamed. He starts to walk, and they lead him off.

I stand there, the brief interaction being analyzed five ways at once in my mind. I try not to think about it. I try not to think.

I try to remember Harvey Dent, my friend, my partner in the war on crime. What happened, Harv?

What happened.

I turn back to the service and my wife, who is watching, concerned. I don't look over my shoulder, to see them put him in the car and drive away. Even if there is some of the old Harvey left, if the apology was sincere, that was the old life. That was the past.

My line of work doesn't allow for weakness, emotions like nostalgia, hope. But I'm not on the clock. I let myself feel, for a little while, what it feels like to lose a friend.

And then I bury Harvey, like they buried Gilda. It hurts me, it saddens me, it really does, but it's long past time to move on. I walk away, and by the time I look back, the car is gone.


End file.
